The gleam of daybreak
Let's get the worst out first. I got laid off. My reviews were stellar over four years of employment. I just happened to lose a game of Contract Musical Chairs during a time of uncertainty in the realm of government R&D funding. I have contacts, I have references, I have excellent prospects lined up - including an interview soon to come with a desirable employer - along with a high security clearance and the magical decade of experience required to bill myself as a senior software engineer. I'll be fine.
It's still a shock absorbed with its share of high octane beer. Spring House Big Gruesome Stout is a new favorite in the Strong 'n Flavorful lineup. It is peanut butter drunky time, and it is glorious. But consumed in measured quantities, all things considered. I continue to put in my quality time at the gym. I enjoyed a four-odd mile hike to get my just repaired car, which was backed into by a very nice and apologetic friend of a friend. I could have pinged the body shop's ride service, but where's the fun and celebratory pancakes in that? And mud-splashed pants, but they needed a wash anyhow.
I'm outlining. I'm pushing conflicts forward into the Great Unknown of my narrative's center. I'm researching soporific details required to contextualize and develop assorted business machinations. Readers will only see the tip of the iceberg, but it needs the apparent weight and fortitude to sink a ship.
I'm working up the nerve to draw again. I get art performance anxiety in ways that writing rarely pings. Oftentimes I'll make a godawful first sketch that needs to be thrown out. Then the next one starts to get it, and the connection clicks between brain and hand, and I surprise myself with some improvement or another, and I wonder why I ever feared the challenge to begin with.
It's still a shock absorbed with its share of high octane beer. Spring House Big Gruesome Stout is a new favorite in the Strong 'n Flavorful lineup. It is peanut butter drunky time, and it is glorious. But consumed in measured quantities, all things considered. I continue to put in my quality time at the gym. I enjoyed a four-odd mile hike to get my just repaired car, which was backed into by a very nice and apologetic friend of a friend. I could have pinged the body shop's ride service, but where's the fun and celebratory pancakes in that? And mud-splashed pants, but they needed a wash anyhow.
I'm outlining. I'm pushing conflicts forward into the Great Unknown of my narrative's center. I'm researching soporific details required to contextualize and develop assorted business machinations. Readers will only see the tip of the iceberg, but it needs the apparent weight and fortitude to sink a ship.
I'm working up the nerve to draw again. I get art performance anxiety in ways that writing rarely pings. Oftentimes I'll make a godawful first sketch that needs to be thrown out. Then the next one starts to get it, and the connection clicks between brain and hand, and I surprise myself with some improvement or another, and I wonder why I ever feared the challenge to begin with.